“Major Swift Dragon?”
Konowa blinked. Mechanically, he sheathed his blade and forced himself to turn away. Viceroy Alstonfar’s face swam into view.
“I did this to them,” Konowa said. “It’s because of me they were banished here. They did this because of me.”
Pimmer stepped back in surprise. “Absolutely not. Every man and elf has a choice between good and evil. Circumstances might stack the deck one way or the other, but you still pick the card.”
Konowa looked into Pimmer‘s eyes, searching for the lie. He saw only compassion and honesty. “You really believe that?”
“With every ounce of my being, and that’s a lot of belief.”
Konowa smiled in spite of himself. “I could have used you in the forest a while back.”
“I’m here now, and my advice is that we get off these rocks and in the fort posthaste.”
A gust of wind buffeted Konowa’s shako and he realized he was shivering. “Wise words.” He turned and started to climb the steps, not sure he was prepared for what he might see next but knowing he had to face whatever it was. The rest of the climb happened in a blur. Dead rakkes littered the ground wherever he looked. Eventually, he simply looked down, watching his boots. He forgot about counting. He forgot about the regiment marching across the desert floor heading toward the fort. Thoughts of what his elves had become were still playing in his mind when a shadow loomed before him. He looked up in surprise to see the wall of the fort towering directly above him.
The bottom twenty feet of the wall were comprised of roughhewn boulders joined together like massive blocks. As Konowa craned his head back he saw the stones grew smaller and had been worked more, although the overall appearance was still of something put together rapidly.
“We made it,” Private Feylan said, coming to stand beside Konowa. The other soldiers soon appeared and huddled together. Their faces were pale masks of grim concentration. Konowa imagined they were trying desperately, as he was, to forget what they’d just seen.
“We’re not in yet,” Konowa said, looking to Pimmer.
“But we will be soon,” the diplomat said, walking up to the wall and tracing the cracks between the blocks with a finger. He began counting the blocks from right to left and referring back to the map in his hand. “I do believe I’ve found it,” he said after a minute, stepping back from the wall and pointing to a block four feet tall and three feet wide. He looked down at the ground, took another step back, looked up and counted the blocks again, nodded, and stamped his right boot twice.
“Was something supposed to happen?” Private Feylan whispered to Konowa.
Konowa said nothing, only raising an eyebrow at Pimmer who gave the map another look, spun it ninety degrees before turning it back, and moved over three blocks to the right and pointed at another block of similar dimensions. “Yes, definitely got it this time.” The block shifted back an inch with a puff of dust that was quickly whipped away by the wind.
“Gentlemen, our way in,” he said, stepping forward and giving the block a kick with his boot. It swung backward and disappeared in the dark as if it were on hinges. He reached into his robe and pulled out the small storm lantern. “Now it’s my turn,” he said. He shook the lantern and as its light bloomed he stooped down and walked inside.
Konowa watched the light in the square hole dim as Pimmer walked deeper inside. He realized he was cringing, waiting to hear a loud crack as another fiendish device sprung. When no scream of pain issued forth from the secret passage Konowa pinched the bridge of his nose and blew into his hands for warmth.
“He just. . he just walked right in,” Feylan said, pointing to the opening with his musket. “Just kicked it open and went in like it was his town’s tavern.”
“Seems he finally figured out which way is up on the map,” Konowa said, then cursed himself for disparaging Pimmer in front of the troops. “Which of course he knew all along. I do believe the Viceroy likes to jest,” he said.
Feylan and the other soldiers looked at him with obvious skepticism, but they kept their opinions to themselves.
“Okay, grab him before he wanders too far,” Konowa said, pushing Feylan toward the opening. The private nodded and followed after Pimmer. He reached the wall and without pausing ducked inside.
“All right, the rest of you, in you go. Take it slow, and don’t go far. We still don’t know who or what might be in there.”
The soldiers walked silently toward the opening, each of them lost in thought. One by one they crouched down and entered the passageway until only Konowa remained outside the wall. He hunched his shoulders against the cold. For several minutes, he simply stood there.
Finally, he took one last look down the rocky slope before turning and walking inside. A trail of black frost stained the ground in his wake.
EIGHTEEN
Scolly fell to the tunnel floor, the sound of the musket stock striking his cheek still echoing off the walls.
“Stop it, you’ll kill him!” Visyna shouted, jumping up from the wall and running toward the fallen man. The same elf soldier that had threatened Visyna earlier stood over Scolly, his musket raised for another strike.
Hrem was only a second behind her. “Try that again and I will kill you!”
The elf looked between Visyna and Hrem then down at Scolly. “If he wanders off again, he dies,” the elf said, spitting at the soldier, then spinning on his heel and walking away.
Hrem reached down and lifted Scolly to his feet while Visyna came close and examined the bruise on his face without touching it. “How do you feel?”
Tears were running down Scolly’s cheeks. “I just wanted to know where we are going.”
Teeter came up to them and took Scolly by the elbow, but not before giving Visyna a cold stare. “If you don’t use your damn magic soon it’s going to be too late. C’mon, Scolly, let’s go sit down.”
Visyna tried to think of a response, but couldn’t. Teeter was right. If she didn’t do something then what good was she?
She sat back down against the wall. Hrem joined her a moment later. “Don’t worry about Teeter, he’s just upset.”
“He’s right though,” Visyna said. “I have to act. You see what these elves are like.”
Hrem looked down the tunnel then back at her. “So what did you have in mind?”
“How good is your command of the frost fire?”
“I’m one of the few in the regiment who seems to be able to control it, but I’m no Renwar,” he said, his voice a mixture of pity and relief. “What he did when we left Nazalla was way beyond anything I’d know how to do. I don’t even know exactly how I do control it. It’s sort of like breathing, I just do it.”
Visyna hid her disappointment. “But you can call it up when you want, right?”
For an answer Hrem held out a hand. Black frost covered his palm. As she watched the crystals grew and transformed into ugly, black flames before he closed his fist and doused them. “I could kill someone with it if I touched them, but I couldn’t throw it if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Could you make a wall? Some kind of barrier that you could place around Kritton and the elves?”
Hrem thought about that. “Never tried anything like that. Even if I could, though, how would that help? Flame won’t stop musket balls.”
“Not flame,” Visyna said, “but ice. If I could teach you to weave, maybe you could do it. It wouldn’t have to be for long, just enough time for Chayii, Jir, and me to do the rest.”
Hrem looked at his hands then at her. “Do you want to try now?”
“No, it’s too confined down here. We’ll have to wait until we get out of this tunnel.”
“Does that mean you’re able to weave down here?” he asked.
Visyna nodded. “My ability never left. The ancient power in the library was just too caustic to weave.” She tried to think of a way to explain it. “Think of nature as one giant fabric. Everything has a life force, an energy like a
